


Saying nothing, that's enough for me

by Korrigan131



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korrigan131/pseuds/Korrigan131
Summary: Post Brazil 2011, the rain comes at last in the pitlane.
Relationships: Vitaly Petrov/Bruno Senna
Kudos: 2





	Saying nothing, that's enough for me

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like I never cross posted this from LJ to here, so whilst I'm doing my fic-related spring cleaning, I figured I might as well...
> 
> Originally posted in 2013.
> 
> (And yes, I am _very_ aware of just how cancelled Vitaly is.)

“You think, that was the end?”  
  
Vitaly asks the question as if he doesn’t already know the answer, and as if it’s only Bruno’s opinion that he’s after. That’s not how he means it though, they both know that.  
  
Because they both knew, had known from so long ago that they couldn't remember not knowing, that they weren’t going to be kept on into the next season, no matter the empty words of praise and the polished smiles to the press that the team’s management had for them. Even the engineers knew – the slight pity in their genuinely proud smiles when either driver dragged the best they could out of the car was a giveaway Bruno at least couldn’t miss, even if Vitaly tried so hard to ignore every single sign. They were a stopgap, the car was a stopgap – everything was going to start again from scratch the next year. A brave new world for the Enstone team. And they weren’t invited.  
  
Bruno wondered if he was the only one who noticed what it was doing to his teammate, watching as he did (probably too closely) the subtle changes in his body language as the season progressed in a constant scramble for whichever points they could scrape from the midfield – the tight, small hunch in the way he held himself, the pulled-down sleeves, the uncertainty in every smile, and the defensive blankness when there were no smiles to be had – the confidence he’d had at the beginning of the year, looking stunned on the podium in Melbourne, was shattered. And as people stopped paying attention to them it showed through more and more. Bruno though was just tired, tired of optimism that never came to anything, time and time again. He wondered how he’d ever believed that _this_ was his chance. It never seemed to be his chance. They’d thrown Nick out with no ceremony. There was no reason it would be any different with either of them.  
  
But nothing is ever completely bleak. In the dark, there was a light, or something else religious that perhaps his uncle might have said. In the dark there was warmth, and soft noises, and even comfortable silence. In the dark there were moments of peace and quiet, to be with someone who was going through it all with him. Fingertips to fingertips under the covers, like two sides of an arch they could hold each other up, taking comfort in the casual touches of the pitlane, knowing that they could become something more later, and knowing that this was something they had – a refuge built of stolen moments and clandestine meetings, which was strong enough to survive a season that had felt like climbing a landslide.  
  
“Yeah, that was the end.”  
  
Vitaly nods, slowly. The rain has finally come, after humming and ha-ing throughout the entire race, and now it’s in torrents, pouring off the roofs and already in huge puddles on the tarmac. The gap they’re in, tucked between the motorhomes, is somehow dry, though the air is sticky and humid, and their black and gold racesuits are loose to their waists, the metal walls cool through the fireproof material. Bruno’s watching it fall, hearing only the drops on the ground and the roofs, and the thunder rolling in the distance, tuning out the drills whirring and the trolleys rattling and the clank clank clanking of dismantling the garages, as if he wants to stand out in the downpour, until he’s soaked to the skin and his boots are ruined, until the water runs down the back of his neck and trickles in to the nomex of his undershirt and turns it almost transparent...  
  
Ok, so Vitaly will admit that last bit is just his mind going where it wants to, but Bruno’s certainly watching the rain as if it’s washing something away. He’s said things before about that, about this season, and Vitaly wonders how much of it he wants to forget. He wonders too if either of them would have given up what’s got them through for what they were both really here for.  
  
He honestly can’t decide either way.  
  
“You think this is the end of _us?”_ he asks, still watching Bruno watch the rain.  
  
Bruno doesn’t otherwise move, but Vitaly feels fingers linking into his, and squeezing gently, somehow both offering and seeking reassurance.  
  
“I hope not.”  
  
They've never made or asked for promises they both know they can’t keep. So Vitaly just squeezes back.


End file.
